


The 100

by Write_Again



Series: Who We Are [1]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Enemies to Friends, F/M, Friendship/Love, Season/Series 01, Slow Build, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-30
Updated: 2016-07-12
Packaged: 2018-07-19 21:24:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 16,591
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7377904
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Write_Again/pseuds/Write_Again
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Ark's chief medical officer's daughter and a stowaway janitor. The princess and the rebel leader. They're the key to mankind's survival. Or extinction. A series of Bellarke moments through Season 1. A new chapter is posted every Thursday!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Earth Skills

**Season 1 Episode 2: Earth Skills**

* * *

_Bellamy_

* * *

A low, agonizing moan floated along the wind and through the branches. It was distant, barely perceptible, but everyone heard it. The little rescue party stood alert and suspicious in an instant. Clarke looked up, her small, delicate fingers hovering above the blood-stained rocks Finn had just found. Bellamy saw in vivid detail the muscles in her neck tighten as her breath caught in her throat, and he wondered dimly why he even bothered to notice.

"What the hell was that?" Murphy asked next to him. His voice showed neither concern nor fear, but rather a hint of annoyance.

Bellamy opened his mouth, ready to reprimand his apathetic second-in-command, surprisingly irritated at the kid's indifference.  _This is someone's_ life _on the line_ , he wanted to say, but Clarke spoke first. "Now would be a good time to take out that gun," she said, watchful, searching the trees. Before her decree was even finished, she took off at a sprint toward the source of the moaning.

Finn was the first to reach the clearing. It was large enough to land a helicopter or jet, antique pieces of machinery Bellamy vaguely remembered reading about in earth history class on the Ark. Tall grass stretched out from the center of the forest, surrounding a single tree. Barren branches stuck out in odd directions. Tied to the tree, his body sagging as if the life inside had already been drained away-

"Jasper!" Clarke gasped softly, stopping dead in her tracks.

Jasper let out a groan, his shaking body assuring the others that he was still alive. He was shirtless, wearing instead dozens of deliberate scrapes and cuts. Dried blood stuck to his raw, pink skin. Vines wrapped around his waist, chaining him to the tree, and his arms were bound above his head. He was completely exposed and utterly helpless.

The rescue party stood frozen with bewilderment, incapable of movement as they stared at the poor boy. Bellamy didn't know exactly what they would find when they set out earlier that day - actually, he was pretty sure that they wouldn't find anything at  _all_. Yet here they were, just a few yards from the kid they were searching for, strung up like meat and battered with wounds.

Bellamy knew the grounders were dangerous - anyone or  _thing_  that didn't come from the Ark was a potential threat - but he never once believed they could be barbaric enough to do  _this_. If they could easily manhandle and torture just one kid, one innocent guy in the wrong place at the wrong time, what else were they capable of? Who was safe, if anyone?

Clarke was the first one to snap back into action. She ran forward, hacking through the tall grass with her arms. "Oh my god!" She was nearly hysterical, disregarding Finn's cautious warnings. " _Jasper?!_ "

Bellamy tucked the gun into the back of his pants, close behind Clarke. Truthfully, he didn't care much for Jasper; he barely knew the kid. But as the reality of the situation dawned on him, for the briefest second, he felt scared. Terrified, even. His blood ran cold and the hairs on his arms stood erect. His safety, his sister's safety, hell, every one of the hundred that came down from the Ark - they were  _all_  threatened. "What the hell is this?" Bellamy's thoughts raced a hundred miles an hour in every which way when suddenly, he was  _angry_. Angry that he had let Jasper go on that stupid expedition for Mount Weather. Angry that Octavia had gone with him; she could've been attacked and captured, too. But above all, he was angry that Jasper was taken under  _his_  watch,  _his protection_. Bellamy was furious, ignited by a sense of personal responsibility strikingly different from his original whatever-the-hell-we-want policy.  _How_  dare  _they do this to one of my people?_

As if in response to his silent threat, there was a loud crackling noise, like branches or leaves crunching underfoot. Bellamy's shoulder brushed against Clarke's, and before either of them knew it, before Clarke could even cry out, she was falling. She half-turned, trying to catch onto the ledge, but instead she caught Bellamy's arm.

Bellamy stiffened, tightening his grip on her wrist and bracing her weight with his other hand. He looked past Clarke and into the pit below; tall spikes covered every inch of the deep hole in the ground.  _Not a bad trap_ , he thought, privately giving kudos to the grounders.  _I'll have to get these dug around the drop ship_. He glanced back down at the blonde princess clinging to the end of his arm, blue eyes boring into his. Pleading.

Somewhere distant, in the farthest reaches of his mind, he was astounded that he even bothered to notice just how blue her eyes were.

Clarke squeezed, fingernails digging into his arm, and his fingers grazed against something smooth and cool to the touch.  _The wristband._  Bellamy pressed his lips together as his mind tossed this perfect opportunity back and forth. He could let go. He could drop her. Then he wouldn't even have to worry about getting that wristband anymore, let alone cutting off her hand, as he had said to Murphy. He wouldn't have to hold her down and take it by force, like with Wells, either. No, those lethal spikes would take care of it all for him.

"Clarke! Get her up!" Finn's voice was a million miles away. He and Wells ran forward, yelling, "Pull her up! Get her up, get her up!" but Bellamy could barely hear them, trapped in Clarke's blue eyes. They darted back and forth between his face and his hand, holding hers. Bellamy stared at her, breathing hard, and tried to swallow the bile rising in his throat. In this little moment, in these few seconds, he had the power to decide whether this brave little princess lived, or died. Clarke was  _completely_  at his mercy.

Bellamy idly came to the conclusion that, although he greatly enjoyed being in charge, he was downright thankful he wasn't God.

 _If I dropped her,_  Bellamy reasoned,  _I could say she slipped. It wouldn't be my fault._  Clarke gasped as if she forgot how to breathe, and she started squirming around in a fruitless attempt to climb out of the pit on her own. She knew what he was thinking. When he peeked back down at her, Bellamy dimly wondered just how much of his thoughts were written on his face.

A series of bloody images flashed before him like a movie in slow motion. He lets go. Without his support, Clarke's hand slips away. Her mouth opens in a cry. She looks like the sun as she plummets to her end, long blonde hair flying out in all directions like sun rays, encircling her head like a halo. Her blue eyes widen and Bellamy has this strange sense of drowning. Then abruptly, she goes limp. A stake driven straight through her abdomen. Blood pools at the entrance of the wound and drips down the sides of her slack body. Her head hangs off her shoulders, eyes still open, mouth still open. The wristband continues flickering, informing the Ark of Clarke's death.

Clarke's death.

_No._

Bellamy blinked rapidly, trying to push these grotesque pictures out of his head. He nearly crushed Clarke's wrist under his grasp, trying to reassure himself that he hadn't  _truly_  let go, that she was still alive. Bellamy readied himself to pull, coming to a decision.

 _It_  would  _be my fault._

No matter his efforts, Clarke's lifeless body still haunted him. The image seared itself into the backs of his eyelids. He couldn't unsee her death. He couldn't unsee the life draining away from those vibrantly blue eyes.

But then it wasn't just Clarke he saw, dead below. In his mind's eye, each spike bore another dangling body. He saw Jasper, speared through. He saw Murphy, Atom, and Monroe, gaping holes where their hearts ought to be. The girl he had just fooled around with in the drop ship whose name he couldn't remember. Finn. Wells. Monty. The bodies kept piling up until the pit extended out in all directions for miles, a hundred bodies skewered like meat. Worst of all, he saw Octavia's lifeless body at the epicenter.

Bellamy gazed down at Clarke with a new ferocity.  _You're not dying today_ , he tried to say,  _you're not dying because of me_. But the message was lost in her fear of death and his fear of causing it.

And then the other three were there. Finn grabbed Clarke's other hand, Murphy secured Bellamy's grip, and Wells supported them all from behind. They heaved together once and Clarke was out of danger - from the pit. Bellamy's heart hammered as he watched Murphy's fingers inch towards the wristband; she wasn't safe from  _him_.

Bellamy swiftly knocked Murphy away, glowering at his second.  _Leave it_ , he said in one look, and Murphy shuffled back reluctantly. Bellamy returned his attention to Clarke. She panted heavily from the adrenaline rush, and her hand still clutched firmly onto his arm.  _We're not like the grounders. We're not barbarians_.

As she kicked backwards and away from the edge of the pit, unsettled from her near-death experience, Bellamy just couldn't bring himself to let go.  _She's safe now_ , he reminded himself,  _you didn't kill her_. Yet while the disturbing images of death lingered in the corners of thoughts, his fingers defied him.

"You okay?" Spacewalker hovered over Clarke, trying for comfort. Bellamy had wanted to ask if she was alright, but when Finn beat him to it, he became aware of the simple fact that he  _cared_ , despite his distaste for the princess and her privileged background. He couldn't understand why; she was aggravatingly insistent on going against every damn word he said. Why should he care about her well-being at all? The only person Bellamy would ever care about was his sister; that's why he was on the ground in the first place.

His hold on Clarke loosened and she pulled away, nodding to Finn. Unable to talk at first from the shock, finally she let out a breathy, "Yeah" as Finn lifted her back onto her feet. Scrutinizing the pit, Clarke retreated a few paces for good measure before glancing at Bellamy. As soon as their eyes locked, he felt his chest tighten.  _She's alive_. Shaken up, maybe, but  _alive_. It wasn't until she had looked at him that he realized he was holding his breath.  _I wouldn't have let you fall_ , he wanted to say, but then her gaze returned to the pit and he figured he lost his chance.

"We need to get him down," she grounded out. Bellamy could see her mentally shove aside her fright, focusing again on Jasper. Her jaw clenched and she straightened her back.

 _There's our brave princess_ , he thought, a little too cynically.

Finn and Clarke seemed to be on the same page without even looking at each other. Spacewalker nodded once before announcing, "I'll climb up there and cut the vines."

"Yeah, yeah," Wells agreed, and hurried to follow him. Bellamy couldn't help but roll his eyes, thinking back to their earlier conversation about Wells' invisibility. "I'm with you."

At this, Finn halted immediately and turned, glaring daggers at Bellamy. _If looks could kill_ , he mused, _I'd be dead a dozen times over by now._

"No. Stay with Clarke," Finn demanded. His tone was harsh. "And watch  _him_."

Bellamy returned the glare.  _I wouldn't have let her fall_. He wanted to strike back and show everyone that he wasn't the bad guy here; the grounders were. Those who strung Jasper up like live bait, those who set the trap Clarke fell into. The grounders were the enemy,  _not him._

But he didn't say anything. He simply closed his eyes and picked apart the slow-motion movie that wouldn't let up, even though Clarke Griffin stood unharmed and breathing, right next to him.

* * *

_Clarke_

* * *

She wasn't sure how or when their connection was established, but all it took was one look, their silent conversations startlingly clear as day. Clarke and Finn squatted together, heads close, fingertips reaching out to the blood-stained rocks they had just found.

 _Jasper's blood?_  Finn questioned, raising his eyebrows.

She inclined her head.  _He's in trouble._

A dim, very faint groan of pain echoed throughout the forest and Clarke's head snapped up, suddenly wary of her surroundings. She froze, as if her stillness would somehow protect her from the grounders lurking in the woods, despite the four boys around her still moving and talking.

"What the hell was that?" She couldn't tell if Murphy was frightened or irritated, but she didn't care. The sound was indefinite, but it was undoubtedly human, and in pain. No grounder would be stupid enough to give away his position; that left only Jasper.

"Now would be a good time to take out that gun," she said, turning slightly over her shoulder in Bellamy's direction. Clarke didn't like to think that violence should be their first instinct, but it was barely their second day on the ground and already one of their own was injured and taken.

She led the group in Jasper's direction, running faster as the sounds of his groans grew louder and closer. When they finally found him, he was suspended to the center of a tree, secured by vines around his waist and arms. Joy swept through Clarke at the sight of him, but her elation was quickly replaced by anxiety. His bare chest was ragged and raw, nearly sliced to ribbons. An unnaturally dark spot oozing blood covered the area over his heart. Skin hanging off his bones and ribs colored black and blue, Jasper looked like a corpse beaten like a piñata. But his stomach fluttered up and down consistently in strenuous attempts for breath, so Clarke relaxed. As long as the sweet kid with the goggles was still among the living, she could help him.

Clarke hesitated as suspicion paused her movement. Were the grounders that strung Jasper up still here? Her rescue party would be no use to him if they were all killed in an ambush.

"Jasper!" Clarke called out, eyes darting back and forth, examining the clearing for any sign that  _others_  were present. The tall grass bent with the wind, creating a disturbingly false sense of calm, but otherwise there was no movement.

Another tortured moan escaped the poor kid's lips, spurring Clarke back into action. "Oh my god!" Heat boiled her blood, causing her arms to feel heavier, slower. Finn said something behind her - be careful, maybe? - but the words had no meaning. She needed to get to Jasper.

Her attention belonged solely to her friend tied to the tree, so she didn't notice the patch of dirt before her, how it was the only spot in the clearing that lacked tall swaying grass. The dirt was slightly darker and looser, too. No, Clarke didn't see any of the irregularities; she missed all the subtle signs until it was too late and her foot was sinking farther down than it should have. Clarke yelped as realization hit her: she was falling. She tried to act quicker than gravity, flailing her hands, reaching, groping for anything, when Finn's hand grabbed hers.

Clarke's chest clenched tightly in relief and she opened her mouth, ready to thank him, but her throat contracted in on itself as soon as she looked up at her savior. Her blue eyes connected with dark, brown eyes. But they didn't belong to Finn - they were Bellamy's.

Her shock must have been clear on her face because, in quicker than a second, Bellamy's expression mirrored exactly how she felt. But just as quickly, the surprise in the creases between his brows was replaced by something else she couldn't quite decipher. Then his eyes turned bright, gleaming with a new idea, and his fingers loosened.

Clarke's heart sped up with terror.  _He's going to let go._

She squeezed, digging her fingernails into his wrist. Even through his sleeves, little half-moons pressed into his skin.  _Don't_ , she pleaded. Clarke glanced once at his hand, growing slightly slacker with each passing moment, then back to his face.  _This isn't who you are!_  His dark eyes narrowed, and Clarke could only guess that he was trying to decide whether to murder her or not. She exhaled in a fleeting sense of solace; he was hesitating. Meaning, he had a conscience, a moral compass. Meaning, he wouldn't  _actually_  drop her.

Would he?

Clarke imagined what it would be like to die, how it would feel. She knew that these kinds of thoughts were the worst to have in her present situation, but she couldn't stop herself. Would it hurt? Of course it would hurt, those spikes below were  _sharp_. How long would the pain last? Would her entire life flash before her eyes like in the movies? And what would she see? Would she even be satisfied with the life she's led so far?

Bitterness made her mouth sting. Clarke had spent the last year in solitary, alone, drawing. Cooped up in a cell because she knew the truth and tried to help her father get it out to the people. Hidden away from the world as she knew it, then abruptly thrown into this new one filled with intense wonders and a multitude of dangers. All that she'd suffered, all that she'd endured - only to die on her  _second day_  on the ground.

Finn and Wells were  _somewhere_. She could hear their voices calling out, but she couldn't understand what they were saying over the blood pounding deafeningly in her ears. Where  _were_  they? Bellamy still hadn't pulled her up, and too much time passed as he was making his decision. His hold was relaxing. Clarke wriggled and twisted around, kicking her feet, trying to find a foothold. If he wouldn't pull her up, maybe she could get out herself. But all her efforts were to no avail. The grounders had smoothed down the walls of the pit, and the balls of her feet just kept slipping off. Clarke looked back to Bellamy. As much as she hated to admit it, she needed him.  _Help me, please!_

A series of different emotions warred for dominance over his face. She watched, perplexed, as each one smoothed then wrinkled his features, wondering desperately what the hell he was thinking. There was fear. Shock. Was that grief? And then all of a sudden, he squeezed, Clarke wincing slightly at the force. She blinked up at him in confusion, then faintly noticed that he was blinking rapidly, too. Resolve gave him a newfound strength; his jaw clenched together, teeth bared. Clarke realized with relief that he wasn't a murderer after all. She was right about him; the guy's an ass, but not an executioner. She almost felt guilty for doubting him and pinning him as a killer.

She knew Bellamy was fully capable of pulling her out on his own, but all at once the others were there, too. They hauled Clarke out of the pit with one pull and then she was free. Bellamy's hand was still wrapped around hers as she tried to turn around, and she wondered again what he was thinking. Then she laughed inwardly; she'd probably puzzle over Bellamy Blake's thoughts a hundred thousand more times as long as they were both on the ground together.

Finn squatted down next to her, his hand squeezing her shoulder gently, comfortingly. "You okay?" he asked. Clarke exhaled breathlessly, trying to squirm out of Bellamy's grasp. When he finally let go, she nodded, trying to stand. She felt Finn's hands go under her arms as he lifted her up, and she let herself sink into him, just a little bit. Quietly, in their odd way, she thanked him for choosing to come along after all; this was the second time that day he'd saved her from a potential attack from Bellamy.

"Yeah," she promised, leaning towards Finn. Clarke couldn't take her eyes off the pit and its spikes, but when she felt Bellamy's gaze on her back, she turned warily. His dark, narrow eyes were brooding, his lips pursed together. One look, and she knew.  _He wouldn't have let me fall._  Clarke raised her hand to reach out to him in gratitude, but changed her mind at the last second, instead pulling her pack around more securely. She squared her shoulders and trained her focus back to Jasper. "We need to get him down."

 

 


	2. Earth Kills

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clarke tries to save Jasper. Bellamy watches over Charlotte. Then behold the Bellarke moment of the episode: Atom's death.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own Clarke Griffin, Bellamy Blake, or anyone else from The 100. If I did, Bellamy would get more of what he deserves: happiness and love.

**Season 1 Episode 3: Earth Kills**

* * *

_Clarke_

* * *

 

Jasper was alive, but barely. It had been three days since they found him, and he wasn't making any progress despite all Clarke's efforts.

"The grounders cauterized the wound," she stated, dabbing delicately at Jasper's chest to clean the dirt and dried blood away. Thankfully, the wound wasn't as deep as Clarke had originally thought. The spear missed his heart by a few inches, but even _if_ it had been a direct hit, she wasn't sure the tip would've made it through his sternum. Whoever had struck Jasper definitely knew what he, or she, was doing. The attack was deliberate. She stared at his damaged chest and the cuts surrounding it, dumbfounded. "It saved his life." _But why?_

"Saved his life so they could string him up for live bait," Finn said, and Clarke looked up, unaware that she had spoken her thoughts aloud. "Garden of Eden this ain't."

She shook her head, rejecting his theory. Admittedly, the giant puma bobcat _thing_ Wells had killed certainly defended that possibility; perhaps the grounders were barbaric when it came to their food, too. But there _had_ to be more to it than that.

Jasper let out a breathy moan, twisting from side to side restlessly, and Clarke decided the grounders' motives could wait. "This is infected. He could be septic," she announced, focusing again on her patient. She racked her memories, searching for a way to deal with his wounds without the Ark's medicine. Then she glanced at Monty over her shoulder. "Any progress on using the wristbands to contact the Ark?"

He was silent, wide eyes staring at his best friend writhing and wailing in pain on the floor.

"Monty!" Clarke shouted, losing her patience.

He glanced at her once, face hard and emotionless like stone, before solemnly returning back to his work. "That would be a firm no."

Clarke sighed, discouraged. "My mother would know what to do," she muttered, mostly to herself. If only she had access to modern medicine, their efforts in saving Jasper would be more effective.

"How's he doing?"

No matter how much she hated Wells, Clarke could easily recognize his tall frame and broad shoulders in a crowd; she _had_ spent her entire childhood with him at her side. She'd know that voice anywhere. But that didn't mean she wanted him around. "How does it _look_ like he's doing, Wells?" Her own voice was cold, biting.

Ever since they were kids, he had an uncanny way of knowing when something was wrong just by the way she talked. Even her posture somehow clued him in. It's because he knew her so well that Clarke was _sure_ that he had heard the hostility in her tone. Yet, he spoke to her calmly, politely. Like he didn't let her anger and disdain get to him. Why didn't he let it get to him? "Hey, I'm just trying to help."

Jasper continued whimpering, his fingers clenching tightly into fists as he tried to squirm away from the pain in his chest. His eyelids fluttered and Clarke felt an overwhelming wave of pity for the pain he was enduring. _Just trying to help_ , Wells had said; she wanted to laugh in his face. "Trying to help" is all she'd been doing for the past three days, and _nothing_ was working. As long as the wound was infected, the contaminants would just spread to the rest of his body until-

Clarke's eyes widened. _Spread_. The infection would _spread._ She looked down at Jasper's chest, reexamining the size of the laceration, then nodded once to herself. "All right," Clarke resigned. She knew what to do, and she couldn't do it alone. "You want to help? Hold him down."

Wells obeyed and grasped Jasper's legs, Finn followed suit and came forward to hold his upper body down, and Clarke reluctantly placed a blade into the fire. She heard Monty speak again, but the words were far away. "I'm not gonna like this, am I?"

* * *

Jasper's screams were going to haunt Clarke until her last day on the ground. He struggled against her, shrieking from the pain. "Hold him still!" She could barely be heard over his tortured howls. Tears escaped from the corners of his eyes. "I need to cut away the infected flesh."

Suddenly the yelling stopped; Jasper had passed out. Clarke's heart started hammering in her chest and she quickly placed her fingers at his neck in dire search of the slightest hint of a pulse.

Then Octavia was next to her. "Stop it! You're killing him!"

"She's trying to save his life," Finn reasoned calmly.

Clarke closed her eyes and ignored them, listening desperately. Then- _ba dum… ba dum… ba dum_ … There it was. Muffled, slow, and dull. But persistent nonetheless. She sighed in relief. _You're going to be okay, Jasper_ , she thought.

Clarke's reassurance was short lived. "She can't."

There was one other voice she'd know anywhere. The hatred Clarke felt toward Bellamy Blake was not nearly as intense as that she felt for Wells - Bellamy wasn't the one that got her father floated, after all - but it _was_ still pretty high up there. It was because of this idiot that the Ark considered almost twenty-five percent of them dead. It was also because of Bellamy that she'd almost died the same day they rescued Jasper.

Wells stood and blocked Bellamy from getting any closer to Jasper. "Back off," he warned through gritted teeth, and Clarke couldn't help but roll her eyes. She knew him as well as he knew her, and right now, Wells was trying too hard to sound tough. Besides, she didn't need him to fight her battles for her. Not now. Not ever.

"We didn't drag him through miles of woods just to let him die," she said to Bellamy viciously. Dimly she wondered whether her hostility was rightly placed, or if it was just being redirected from one halfwit to another.

"Kid's a goner. If you can't see that, you're deluded." Bellamy didn't let up, and Clarke decided he was well-deserving of any and all animosity. "He's making people crazy." How could he be so damn heartless?

"Sorry if Jasper's an inconvenience to you, but this _isn't_ the Ark," she shot back. "Down here, every life matters." _You should know that better than anyone_. Clarke thought of his mother then, and almost felt guilty for her pettiness.

"Take a look at him." Although unconscious, Jasper's face was pinched with fatigue and pain. "He's a lost cause." There was silence as everyone watched him, his stomach shakily going up and down with each aching breath. Clarke couldn't understand why Bellamy persisted in playing judge, jury, and apparently, executioner. He was there when they found Jasper, tied up and carved like meat; he helped them carry the poor kid home. How could he give up so easily?

"Octavia," she turned to Bellamy's sister, speaking softly. Maybe if Clarke could convince her, she'd end up convincing _him_ , as well. "I've spent my whole life watching my mother heal people. If I say there's hope, there's hope."

She glanced back down at Jasper and Clarke vaguely wondered if she was trying to convince herself, too.

"This isn't about hope," Bellamy barked sharply, "it's about guts." _Guts?!_ Clarke could barely contain herself as he continued on, squeezing her fingers tightly around the knife. She was tempted to use it on him instead of Jasper. "You don't have the guts to make the hard choices. _I do_. He's been like this for three days. If he's not better by tomorrow, I'll kill him myself."

Clarke's mind raced, at first with confusion. This side of Bellamy, she didn't recognize it. Yes, he was an utter asshole. But if he was truly a killer, then why didn't he let her fall to her death? She knew she was a pain in his ass as much as he was hers. Why didn't he kill _her_ when he had the chance? Where did this side of him even come from?

Then uncertainty turned to determination. Jaw clenched and head bent low, she focused once again. _I'll kill him myself_ , he said. _Kill_. She gazed down at the poor boy beneath her, completely oblivious to everything in the world except for the pain in his chest. Jasper was depending on her. His life was in her hands, and now that meant more than just Clarke's medical skills; she had to protect him from Bellamy, too.

_Don't worry_ , she promised him silently, _I won't let him, or anyone else, hurt you._

Bellamy placed a hand on the ladder, preparing himself to climb back down. "Octavia, let's go."

"I'm staying here," she said, and Clarke quietly applauded Octavia's disobedience. She doubted it, but if his sister didn't want Jasper to die, maybe that could stay Bellamy's hand just long enough for him to get better.

Bellamy left without another word, making Clarke smile slightly despite herself. She found that any punch to his ego was extremely satisfying.

"Power-hungry, self-serving jackass," Monty muttered next to her. He was staring at the ladder where Bellamy had just left, knuckles white. "He doesn't care about anyone but himself." He must have remembered, then, that Octavia was still in the room, because he quickly turned to her and added, "No offense." She just shrugged. Apparently she agreed.

So did Finn. "Yeah. Bellamy _is_ all that," he said. The next words out of his mouth were like a punch to Clarke's own ego. "But he also happens to be right."

Clarke looked up at him quickly, appalled. She opened her mouth, ready to reprimand him. _How could you say that? You were_ there _when we rescued him - you helped us! You've been here with me every second, taking care of Jasper. Now you want to throw all of our efforts away, throw his_ life _away, just like that?_ But she kept her tongue in check. Instead, she pressed her lips tightly into a firm line. If he wanted to believe Jasper was a lost cause, fine. _Go ahead_ , she thought crossly. _You're wrong_.

* * *

_Bellamy_

* * *

The boar was oblivious to the hunting party, oinking pleasantly as it milled around in the grass. On the other hand, the boys were growing antsy, their next meal so close yet still out of reach. Bellamy raised his hand, signaling them to hold position. "Shh… She's mine."

He lifted his axe, fingers wrapping around the handle tightly, ready for the kill. The muscles in his arm tensed and- a twig snapped behind him- _Grounders!_

The boar looked up, suddenly aware of its predators, but Bellamy was more concerned with everyone's safety rather than their stomachs. Just as the boar let out a startled grunt and turned to flee, he spun around in the opposite direction, using the momentum to hurtle the ax at the grounder.

From teaching Murphy how to correctly handle a knife, to idly balancing it in his palm whilst giving cautionary stay-away-from-Octavia glares to Atom, Bellamy had gotten used to the feel of his favorite new weapon. He knew how it felt when he threw it, how much strength to use, how to correctly flick his wrist so it hit his target. The axe became an extension of his arm.

So when the twig snapped, and he saw that it wasn't actually a grounder, but a _little girl_ , he had just enough time to twist his wrist. The axe lodged itself in the trunk of a tree, narrowly missing her.

The hunting party chased after the boar, their footfalls growing dim as they ran deeper into the forest. Thoroughly irritated, Bellamy approached the girl with Atom at his side. He scowled down at her once he got a good look; she was maybe eleven or twelve, just a few years younger than Octavia before she was discovered and sent to Lockup. He softened his sudden anger, but just barely, and roughly asked, "Who the hell are you?"

She gaped up at him as he pulled his axe loose from the tree. "Charlotte," she said, a little apprehensive.

"I almost killed you. Why aren't you back at camp?"

"Well, w- with that guy who was dying, I just…" She stammered for words. Her voice was small and tiny, just like her. "I couldn't listen anymore."

"There's grounders out here," Atom scolded. "It's too dangerous for a little girl."

At that last comment, she straightened her back and raised her chin in defiance. "I'm _not_ little," she argued, and glowered up at them fiercely.

"Okay, then…" Bellamy looked at Atom a little skeptically, thinking of sending him back to camp with Charlotte. The thing was, she reminded Bellamy of Octavia with the way she tried to act bigger, older than she actually was. Tougher. Just like with Octavia, Bellamy was sure that Charlotte's overeagerness would get her into trouble. And, here on the ground, trouble could very well mean death.

Coming to a decision, he pulled out a spare knife and held it out to her. "But you can't hunt without a weapon," he said. If she was going to leave camp, it'd be better if she was nearby where he could watch her. Bellamy always looked out for Octavia when she was young, and lately she'd been completely rejecting him. It wouldn't be criminal to take care of Charlotte in the same way, would it?

Her petite fingers hesitated over the handle before she took it from him, eyes darting nervously between him and Atom. "Ever killed something before?" She shook her head no in response but gripped the blade tightly, as if making a statement of _I'm a big girl, I can do it_. Bellamy laughed a little in spite of himself. "Who knows? Maybe you're good at it."

As Charlotte looked down at the weapon in her hand, smiling to herself, he turned and followed after the boar at a jog, unaware of the toxic seed he had just planted in her mind.

* * *

It sounded like war. Not that Bellamy had ever been at battle before; all he knew about warfare, he learned about in classes on the Ark as a kid. A horn bellowed consistently in warning and the boys from the hunting party ran wildly through the woods. All of the yelling, the cries for help - he imagined this was _exactly_ what war would be like.

He jumped over a familiar bush and skidded along the dirt, checking over his shoulder that everyone was still following him. "Come on!" Bellamy shouted, pressing the kids around him forward. "There are caves this way!"

The horn continued roaring like thunder in the distance and each time it boomed, he felt it reverberate in his chest. Bellamy reached out behind him, extending his hand to Charlotte. Her eyes were wide with fright and she was panting heavily. He tugged her closer, urging her to keep up. Her hand was clammy and she was shaking; her head whipped around in every direction as the yellow fog started closing in. It nipped at her ankles and she yelped when it stung her skin. Bellamy jerked her forward again as they dodged between more familiar trees, both marked with an X. Reassured that he was heading in the right direction, he glanced down at Charlotte, scrambling beside him. Bellamy could easily outrun the fog on his own, but he didn't dare let go. She was depending on him.

The blood pounded in his ears, keeping time with the horn whenever it rang out through the forest. It became like white noise in the background, a dim reminder that as long as that horn continued to bellow, the fog continued to follow them.

Bellamy looked around frantically. He was well-acquainted with his part of the forest thanks to - what was her name? - Gina for always being so self-conscious in the camp. But where was- _There!_ He jumped over another bush, dragging Charlotte behind him, nearly falling down the hill. He turned sharply and shoved Charlotte through the entrance of the cave, briefly thanking Gina for demanding he find somewhere more private than the ever-occupied drop ship.

Bellamy was following Charlotte inside when he heard Atom call out his name, "Bellamy!" He turned back, starting toward the fog. But it burnt his eyes and his lungs, so he backed up a few steps, starting to cough, as Atom cried out again. "Bellamy!" His skin tingled in pain. The longer he stayed immersed in the fog, the more he struggled to remain upright. He felt like he was on fire, his insides ablaze. Dejectedly, Bellamy retreated into the cave. _Atom's fine_ , he told himself, but the lie burned as hotly as the fog. _He's fine_.

* * *

The sky is a dull yellow, hazy, like fog, but clear enough that Bellamy can't accurately call it fog. The air feels heavy, and he can't see the sun. The forest stretches out around him for miles, and a few yards away Atom is laying on his back. His arms are at his sides and he's still, unmoving, not even to breathe, face upturned to the foliage above. Bellamy walks forward, about to rebuke Atom for his laziness. _Get back to work!_ Or is he going to lay down beside Atom and relax, too? He can't remember, but he's walking forward anyways, his steps small and slow.

Now he stands over Atom and fear grips him. Atom's eyes are a milky white, no pupils, no color, just white. His lips are charred, his skin steaming, eyebrows and hair singed. _Bellamy_. Atom's mouth forms words, but he says nothing. Yet, Bellamy can hear Atom as clearly as if he were speaking. _Bellamy, you left me._

Bellamy staggers back and he steps on something solid. It seems to crunch beneath his feet, but he's not sure because he can't quite identify the sound. He turns and finds Atom under his boot. There are no signs of broken bones, but the same blank, empty eyes stare up at him. Bellamy quickly looks behind him, where he had just seen Atom. How did he move so quickly? But Atom is still lying there. Bellamy gasps and whips his head back and forth, eyes disbelieving. His mind must be playing tricks on him, because there are two identical Atoms laying on the ground before him, right next to each other.

They both rise slowly, eerily in sync. The Atoms cock their head to the side and open their mouths. _Bellamy, they say_ , but without voices. _You left us, Bellamy_.

Bellamy blinks rapidly, and each time he opens his eyes, another Atom appears. Suddenly Bellamy can't breathe, his throat won't allow it. It's burning, all of him is burning. He looks down at his hands as the skin turns pink, then red, and it boils. He opens his mouth to scream but like Atom, he doesn't make a sound. The pain, it's excruciating.

_Bellamy, why did you leave? How could you leave us?_

He looks up and dozens of Atoms are now standing before him. They take menacing steps toward him as he continues to burn. Their hands reach out to him, fingers twitching, and Bellamy retreats hastily. But he bumps into a tree; its bark scraps across his back and the flesh tears. The edges of his vision are red, dotting with black. The Atoms are closing in on him, but there's nowhere for Bellamy to run. He can't run, anyways, his legs hurt too much, his lungs hurt too much. He can't breathe. He can't move.

The Atoms reach him, ripping his clothes, exposing him to the yellow haze. Bellamy writhes away from them. He's crying now. His lips split open and a piercing, "No!" rings from his mouth. But it's not his voice. It's a girl's, high-pitched and shrill. It's-

Bellamy's eyes snapped open as Charlotte screamed again. " _No!_ "

He flipped on his other side to face the little girl and hurriedly lifted himself to his knees. He took her by the shoulders and shook her slightly, but she twisted and turned out of his grasp. "Charlotte, wake up!"

Her eyelids fluttered open as she woke, startled out of her nightmare in the same way he was jolted from his. It took a moment, but as soon as she registered Bellamy's face, she relaxed, leaning her head against the cave wall. "I'm sorry," she apologized, near tears.

He studied Charlotte, suddenly aware of the bags beneath her eyes. It's been a long time since the poor girl has had a decent night's sleep. "Does it happen often?" he asked softly. She only sighed dejectedly in response, giving Bellamy his answer. "What are you scared of?" _Can't be any worse than my nightmares._ Charlotte didn't answer right away, looking anywhere but at him. "You know what? It doesn't matter. The only thing that matters is what you do about it."

"But… I'm asleep."

He shrugged. "Fears are fears," he explained, and imagined the nights he awoke in the middle of the night in a cold sweat when he was little. His mother's words of comfort were like a mantra in his mind now. "Slay your demons when you're awake, they won't be there to get you when you sleep."

She didn't seem to understand what he was saying. "Yeah, but… How?" Charlotte asked, skeptical.

Bellamy searched for the right words. When he was her age, his mom didn't bother comforting him with empty sugar-coated reassurances. She knew how his mind worked, that he needed facts and action, not just hollow sympathies. He figured Charlotte was the same way as he said, "You can't afford to be weak. Down here, weakness is death, fear is death." Still, she just looked at him, eyebrows creeping together as questions formed in her mind. "Let me see that knife I gave you."

Charlotte tucked her hand into her pocket. When she pulled it out again they held the handle of the knife. She handed it to him silently, and he held the blade at eye level. He pictured his mom holding Octavia's shoulders and what she would say whenever her daughter was frustrated with hiding in the floor, letting her words guide him now. "Now, when you feel afraid," Bellamy advised Charlotte, "you hold tight to that knife and you say, 'Screw you. I'm not afraid.'"

He gave the knife back and she timidly repeated him, "Screw you. I'm not afraid." He didn't say anything, only gave her a look, telling her she could do better. So she tried again, this time with more confidence, "Screw you. I'm not afraid."

Satisfied, Bellamy grinned and gently patted her knee before moving to lie back down. "Slay your demons, kid," he said again, and he reached for the knife in his pocket. He clenched it tightly between his fingers. "Then you'll be able to sleep."

Bellamy closed his eyes, but the Atoms that haunted him just minutes before flashed in his mind's eyes again. _I should take my own advice_ , he thought indignantly, before reclining his back against the cave wall, thumbing running idly along the blade. He swiveled his body around so that he could more easily face the mouth of the cave, knowing that he wouldn't be getting any sleep himself anytime soon.

_I'm not afraid._

* * *

Charlotte screamed, again, and again, and again. Bellamy ran, trying to follow the sound of her voice. He found her at the top of a hill, head bent forward. She was looking down at something - or someone. _Grounders_ , he immediately assumed, and hastily pulled her to his side, wrapping an arm around her in protection. He followed her gaze, then gasped, his chest tightening.

"Son of a bitch," he muttered, and his stomach's contents threatened to escape up his throat. Before him was the beginning of his latest nightmare: Atom laying on the ground, face up to the trees. Except he wasn't still, but writhing around in pain. Bellamy tried to shake off his anxiety, rushing forward. This wasn't a dream. This was reality, and his friend needed his help. "Atom!"

Bellamy crouched above Atom, striving to keep his growing nausea at bay. The whole situation, it was just like his dream. Atom's white eyes, burnt lips. The difference was, in the dream, _Bellamy's_ skin was burnt, scarred and scorched. Here, Atom was the one in pain; Atom was the one dying. Bellamy's eyes raked slowly over Atom's wounds. He felt helpless.

Atom's mouth quivered as he tried to speak. His words at first were inaudible, so Bellamy leaned forward, his ear hovering above Atom's lips. " _Kill... me._ "

He pulled back, gaping at Atom. _How could you ask me-?_ Bellamy stopped himself, watching with pity as Atom gasped in pain from lack of oxygen. Each inhale sounded thick, like there was water in Atom's lungs. Breathing was nearly impossible.

The others showed up behind Charlotte and Bellamy stood again slowly, staring down at Atom. _What do I do?_ Atom started choking. "I… can't… breathe," he grounded out, and Bellamy felt his heart rate pick up. _What do I do?_

He didn't hear Charlotte approach. Suddenly she was beside him, gazing at Atom solemnly. She wasn't screaming anymore; she was abnormally quiet. As if in answer to his silent self-doubt, Charlotte reached into her pocket for Bellamy's knife and slipped it into his hand. "Don't be afraid," she urged, and Bellamy started at the calm in her voice.

He looked at the rest of the hunting party, idly standing by, watching worriedly. "Go back to camp," he ordered. They obeyed silently, but the little girl who was encouraging him to kill Atom stayed behind. Bellamy looked at her sternly. "Charlotte, you too."

When Bellamy bent back down, Atom turned his head. It seemed like he was looking at Bellamy, but the whites in his eyes where his pupils used to be assured that he was blind now. Just like in Bellamy's dream.

"Kill... me," Atom begged again. His voice was raspy, almost inaudible. Tears leaked from the corners of his unseeing eyes. "Bellamy… please."

He continued to choke.

" _Please._ "

Then Clarke was there. She dropped her backpack at Atom's feet and walked around to his other side. She looked back and forth between Bellamy and Atom. "I heard screams," she explained. She sounded… distraught.

"Charlotte found him," Bellamy said in a rush. He felt like he had to explain himself, too, but for what? For not killing Atom yet? For not knowing how to help him? "I sent her back to camp." All the bullshit he'd spewed about the princess lacking the "guts to make the hard choices" was, in, fact, nothing but hypocritical bullshit. He wasn't sure what bothered him more: the fact that he hadn't given what the dying kid wanted, _needed_ ; or the fact that he _hated_ being seen as a murderer.

Clarke said nothing, inspecting Atom's wounds sternly. Her fingers hovered above his chest. Bellamy could tell she wanted to remove Atom's shirt, but refrained from doing so because it was useless. Atom was a lost cause. _Unless_ … He waited for Clarke to look at him, hoping she had some miracle tucked up her sleeve. He needed her to have the same determination for Atom now as she had for Jasper before.

But she shook her head in confirmation. There was no hope. Bellamy clenched his jaw and nodded, squeezing the knife Charlotte had given him. He couldn't bring himself to look at Atom's face.

_You'd be doing him a favor,_ Bellamy thought, trying to build up the courage. _He's in pain, and he won't get any better. Death is better. Hurry up and do it_. Next to him, Clarke took a deep breath. Bellamy figured she was trying to steel herself for the mercy kill as well, and he privately thanked her for staying. He wouldn't have been able to do this on his own.

_You were going to kill Jasper_ , he reminded himself. _You didn't have any reservations about him. Why is Atom any different?_

It shouldn't have been possible, but Bellamy's grasp on the knife tightened even more. His knuckles were white and his fingernails dug into his palm, a dull pain considering that which Atom was enduring now. Bellamy closed his eyes. He'd never actually taken someone's life before. Talk was one thing, action was something else altogether. There were many times he had the opportunity, but now that it was here, he realized that he didn't have the "guts to make the hard choice," either.

"Okay. I'm gonna help you, all right?"

He opened his eyes quickly. Surely, he didn't hear her correctly. But he must have, because suddenly their hands were touching as she reached for the knife. Her fingers were warm against his, and he wondered, _How is she so calm?_

Clarke combed her fingers through Atom's hair and began humming. The hand holding the knife was steady as it neared his neck, and Bellamy stared at her, finally realizing that she was about to do what he couldn't.

The knife pierced Atom's neck smoothly, a slow stream of blood following it as Clarke pulled the blade away. As she continued humming and petting Atom's hair, Bellamy abruptly remembered thinking of Clarke as a falling angel, blonde hair circling her head like a halo. That was when she almost died in the grounders' trap. Looking at her now, singing to Atom as he fell permanently asleep, Bellamy once again thought of Clarke as an angel - the angel of death.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I'm sorry this chapter is practically is three days late! To make it up to you guys, chapter three will be released a day or so earlier. As always, let me know what you think!


	3. Murphy's Law (Part 1)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Murphy hangs for the death of Wells. Bellamy loses control of the hundred.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own The 100 or its wonderful characters.

**Season 1 Episode 4: Murphy's Law**

**Part One**

* * *

_Bellamy_

* * *

"This knife was made of metal from the drop ship."

Jasper's eyes widened, warily watching Clarke's fingers slowly turn the knife in examination. "What do you mean?" he asked, but Bellamy already knew.

"Who else knows about this?" He looked at Octavia then, arms crossed over his chest.

His sister simply shook her head. "No one," she replied, and leaned forward against the table, arms propping her up at the edge. She scrutinized Wells's fingers on the table grimly, then glanced up at her brother. "We brought it straight here."

"Clarke?" Jasper still hadn't put two and two together, and he looked innocently to the blonde princess for answers.

Her gaze went from the knife to Bellamy, face hard as stone. "It means the grounders didn't kill Wells," she explained. It took another moment, but then her blue eyes darkened as realization finally hit her. Bellamy stiffened, preparing for her impending fit of rage. "It was one of _us_ ," she hissed.

Jasper gawked at her. "So there's a _murderer_ in the camp?" He seemed to be shaking all over with fear, and his gaze searched for comfort in the expressions of the other three in the tent.

But he wouldn't find it from Bellamy, who just rolled his eyes. "There's more than one murderer in this camp," he reminded them, casually dismissing Jasper's anxiety. All of the hundred that came down to the ground were criminals in the eyes of the Ark one way or another; only _some_ were deservingly locked up. But, despite all that, they were still just _kids_ , and kids were never able to take death with a grain of salt. Bellamy knew that an announcement as heavy as this would cause an uproar. "This isn't news. We need to keep it quiet."

Clarke didn't have the same idea. As soon as the word "quiet" left his lips, she groaned in frustration and made to stomp out of the tent. Sensing what she was about to do, Bellamy quickly stepped in front of her, hands out. He was surprised at himself, then; since when did he know what she'd do?

"Get out of my way, Bellamy," she glowered, and he was suddenly reminded that she was still a kid, too. An incredibly mature and (sometimes) wise kid, he had to admit, but a kid nonetheless. She was letting her anger cloud her judgment, and it was going to get Murphy killed.

"Clarke, be smart about this," he pleaded. "Look at what we've achieved: the wall, the patrols. Like it or not, thinking the grounders killed Wells is good for us."

She scoffed, perplexed. "Oh, good for _you_ , you mean," she shot back, and Bellamy for the first time had a true sense of _exactly_ what she thought of him. "What, keep people afraid and they'll work for you? Is _that_ it?"

He shrugged, the insult barely touching him. "Yeah. That's it." However, seeing he had only angered her further, Bellamy quickly added, "But it's good for _all_ of us. Fear of the grounders is building that wall. And besides, what are you gonna do? Just walk out there and _ask_ the killer to step forward? You don't even know whose knife that is."

She raised her eyebrows at him. "Oh, really?" she challenged, and twisted the knife around to reveal initials scratched into the handle. His stomach dropped. "J.M. _John Murphy_. The people have a right to know." Clarke pushed past him without another word and Bellamy grudgingly followed her outside.

She must have taken off at a sprint because the next thing Bellamy saw was her blonde hair flying wildly as she jumped Murphy. " _You son of a bitch!_ "

Murphy chuckled, lifting his hands in mock surrender. "What's _your_ problem?" He wasn't taking her seriously, not until she held his knife high in the air for everyone to see.

"Recognize this?"

Clarke definitely had a tendency for theatrics.

Murphy paused, along with everyone else within earshot. A few abandoned the wall altogether in curiosity. He only regarded Clarke, surprisingly calm. "It's my knife," he said, and reached out, meaning to take it from her. She snatched her hand back, and his eyes narrowed, suddenly just as hostile. "Where'd you find it?"

"Where you dropped it after _you killed Wells._ "

Bellamy gulped, noticing how that statement _instantly_ got the whole camp's attention. Now everyone had stopped what they were doing, turning around to watch the altercation. He wanted to yell at them to mind their own business and get back to work, but there was a reason Clarke confronted Murphy in public. She wanted the people to know, and no matter how much Bellamy disagreed, he knew that once the princess had set her mind to something, there was no changing it; Clarke had tunnel vision when it came to what she thought was right and wrong. He'd seen enough of her stubbornness in the last few days to know she was a force to be reckoned with.

Murphy merely looked at Clarke in disbelief. "Where I _what?_ " When she didn't back down, he became strikingly aware of their audience. "The _grounders_ killed Wells, not me," he snapped.

Clarke stepped forward, getting into his face. "I know what you did," she warned him, "and you're gonna pay for it."

"Really?" Murphy sniggered, and looked over her shoulder to Bellamy. "Bellamy, you really believe this crap?"

He didn't say anything, letting Clarke continue her tirade. "You threatened to kill him. We all heard you. You _hated_ Wells."

Bellamy glanced at Murphy, the kid's rigid body reflecting the crowd's building tension as whispers spread like wildfire. Without Bellamy to back him up, it was Murphy's word against Clarke's, and _she_ was likable. She'd saved Jasper's life, and each decision she'd made since landing on the ground was meant to benefit everyone. In the eyes of the hundred, she wasn't a bad person. Murphy, on the other hand? He was an insufferable bully empowered by Bellamy's approval, only interested in what was convenient for him.

Bellamy swallowed, guilt bitter on his tongue. Maybe he hadn't molded Murphy's vulgar personality himself, but he'd definitely encouraged the kid's appetite for cruelty and power. _I created a monster_ , he thought, realization hitting him like a ton of bricks.

" _Plenty_ of people hated Wells," Murphy countered, and gestured at all of the kids around them, most of whom were on the ground because of Chancellor Jaha. "His father was the chancellor that locked us up-"

Clarke barely gave him anymore time to speak. "Yeah, but _you're_ the only one who got in a _knife fight_ with him."

"Yeah, I didn't kill him then, either," he insisted darkly. He looked Clarke up and down, then. Normally, Bellamy would've just assumed that the kid was checking her out, but he'd spent enough time with Murphy the past few weeks to recognize malice.

"Tried to kill Jasper, too," Octavia suddenly blurted, and Bellamy groaned inwardly. _Here we go_ _…_

Since all of the delinquents had completely stopped working on the wall, they now stood in a haphazard circle, Clarke and the accused at the center. Octavia's outburst was the tipping point, and most, if not all, of the kids present looked ready to pounce. Murphy's eyes widened. "Come on. This is ridiculous." He jutted his chin forward at Clarke, raising his voice with fake bravado. "I don't have to answer to you. I don't have to answer to _anyone_."

"Come again?" Bellamy called out, his voice ringing powerful and clear with authority. The crowd's heads swiveled around to him, and he crossed his arms over his chest, trying to look bigger. He eyed Murphy, one eyebrow cocked in a dare to continue. Only a fool would challenge him in front of the hundred, and Bellamy hoped that Murphy would recognize that.

Murphy hesitated mid-step, confidence lost. He shuffled forward nervously, recognizing his mistake. "Bellamy, look." His voice lowered, and it almost sounded apologetic. "I'm telling you, man, I didn't do this."

Bellamy leveled his gaze, unconvinced. "They found his fingers on the ground with _your_ knife." He shook his head once, indicating Murphy's conclusive guilt.

"Is _this_ the kind of society that we want?" Clarke went on, addressing the crowd now. "You say there should be no rules. Does that mean that we can _kill_ each other without- without punishment?"

"Look, I already told you. I didn't kill anyone," Murphy growled, approaching her menacingly. He opened his mouth to say more when someone suddenly called for an execution.

"I say we float him!"

Clarke's head whipped around, panic transforming her previously furious face as a chorus of agreement fell from the kids' lips. _Connor_ _. I_ _sn_ _'t that his name?_ Bellamy weakly recalled an incident from earlier that day, a petty squabble with Murphy over water; he had had to step in to calm things down. _Great_ , Bellamy thought, comprehending. _The kid wants revenge, and Clarke's practically handing it to him on a silver platter._

"That's _not_ what I'm saying," she started, but was promptly interrupted.

"Why not? He _deserves_ to float," Connor snarled, riling himself and the others. "It's justice."

"Revenge _isn't_ justice," she argued. Bellamy watched Clarke attempt to appeal to Connor's humane, civil side, but, once again, he knew better. The crowd's temper was growing; they were livid, and Murphy's enemies were adding fuel to the fire. Whether or not floating Murphy was _actually_ justice for Wells's death didn't matter, and Bellamy quietly cursed Clarke for being so naive. The kids didn't want justice; they wanted vengeance. Blood for blood.

Connor started a rallying cry, waving his arms up and down to encourage the others. "It's justice! _Float him!_ "

The chant began, starting low but gradually growing higher and louder like war drums. "Float him! Float him!" Murphy lunged for Connor, but another kid swiftly stuck his foot out, tripping him. As he fell to the floor, the onlookers became assailants, kicking, punching. It became a hectic mess of flailing arms and angry shouts, their victim at the very bottom of it all. Murphy struggled to stand but he was kicked down again and again.

The Blakes had been hesitating on the outside of the mosh pit, but as soon as Murphy's head whiplashed to the left, cheek connecting ruthlessly with the toe of someone's boot, Octavia charged forward. "All right, that's enough," she tried, but her brother quickly pulled her back, shaking his head. The last thing he needed was to pick pieces of his little sister up off the ground for getting involved.

The princess, however, was not so unwilling to interfere. "No! Get off him! Get _off_ of him!" Clarke screamed, fighting and shoving, but Connor held her back as they gagged and tied Murphy's hands behind his back. "Let him go!"

She kept reaching out, trying to break up the crowd. Bellamy considered for a moment whether he should help her, or pull her away from the brawl, but then the mob lifted Murphy above their shoulders. They hauled him out of the camp, just on the other side of the wall. Someone tossed a rope over a high branch, knotting one end around the tree trunk. As another delinquent tied the other end into a noose, Bellamy subconsciously pressed his fingers against his own throat, his hands shaking.

"You can't do this!" Connor blocked Clarke's path with his body, and she responded with an elbow to his gut. "Get off me," she barked, thrashing around. She kept on screaming, "No! No!" and tears threatened to spill down her cheeks. The mob wrapped the noose taut around Murphy's neck, singing for bloody murder. Bellamy felt restless, watching his friend - _Is_ that _what we are?_ he questioned, _Friends?_ \- knock on death's door. He wanted to cut Murphy down and dispel the crowd. But his body disobeyed him, and he stayed put, as if his feet were glued to the floor.

Clarke turned suddenly to him, clenching her fists. Her face was red from shrieking. " _You can stop this!_ " Clarke begged. He glanced down at her, once again feeling as though he were drowning in her blue, bloodshot eyes. "They'll listen to you!"

_I'm sorry. There's nothing I can do._

Connor caught sight of the hundred's rebel leader. Bellamy's heart pinched with dread as the kid's eyes gleamed with bloodlust. "Bellamy!" he cried out, too cheerful; he was joyful in the same way someone happily greets an old friend. A disgusting grin lit up his face for the same reason it darkened Clarke's. " _You_ should do it." He lifted his hands up and down just like he had earlier, and another chant began; but this time it was Bellamy's name.

Bellamy couldn't move. He felt paralyzed as he stared up at Murphy, his second-in-command, helpless. Sure, the kid was ridiculous, and a pain in the ass. But he didn't deserve to _die_ , did he? _Of course he does_ , Bellamy argued with himself. _Murphy_ killed _Wells. It's first-degree murder._ He shuddered, then, suddenly overcome with fatigue. _When did I begin deciding who lived and who died?_

Clarke continued shouting in Bellamy's ear, fighting to be heard above the crowd. She pressed her forefinger into his chest and demanded his attention. "I saw you in the woods with Atom. I _know_ you're not a killer, Bellamy. Don't do this."

Murphy echoed her pleas, words muffled because of the gag. "Don't…"

But the crowd's cheering persisted, causing his ears to ring, almost painfully. He could barely hear Clarke anymore, her voice fading into white noise. "Don't." His breathing sped up, coming to a reluctant decision. He shrugged Clarke away and moved with urgency for fear he'd change his mind. "Bellamy!" She tugged on his arm, trying to restrain him. Her words begging him to stop spilled from her lips shakily. "You can't do this, Bellamy!" His heart lurched seeing tears leaking from the corners of her eyes, but he kept her back, and, with one last, sad look at the accused, Bellamy kicked away the only thing keeping Murphy alive.

Murphy dropped without the box to keep him upright.

The crowd cheered.

He swung wildly. Gurgling. Choking.

Bellamy looked away, turning his back. He couldn't look at Murphy anymore.

"No, Bellamy, no!" Clarke screamed and slammed her fists into his chest, tears flowing freely now. " _How could you?!_ "

Bellamy felt his own eyes water and he turned on her. He clasped her shoulders between his fingers and shook her, overcome with rage and regret. "This is on _you_ , princess!" he yelled at her. He wanted to yell and yell until his throat gave out. "You should've kept your mouth shut!"

She scowled up at him through blurry vision, and he stared back, flinching despite himself. Bellamy suddenly felt like he was back at the edge of the pit. Except it wasn't Clarke whose life depended on him. It was Murphy's. And he let go.

" _What the hell are you doing?_ "

Finn broke through Bellamy's paralyzing thoughts. He turned and saw the spacewalker shoving the crowd aside, trying to get to Murphy. "Cut him down!" he demanded, then turned to-

_Charlotte._

Bellamy swallowed, trying to keep his breakfast in his stomach. She's just a little girl - a little girl who had witnessed him _condemn_ someone to _death_. Bellamy closed his eyes and wished that he was anywhere but there. That he hadn't been the one to kill Murphy.

"Charlotte, get out of here, now!" Finn was shouting. "Cut him down!" He sounded far away. With his eyes closed, Bellamy could easily imagine that he was somewhere else, that he wasn't at ground zero for the first public hanging on the ground. The blackness enveloped him in an embrace, but it wasn't warm or friendly. It was poisonous, and deadly. It was cold. It was the kind of cold that burned his skin with instant hypothermia. It choked the air out of his lungs and froze them solid. It reached down into his heart and held it still, kept it from beating. Yet he preferred this chilling sense of death to the reality surrounding him now. Even the Ark would be better than this.

Bellamy's eyes only reopened when he heard Clarke gasp in front of him. Did she get caught in the mob's outrage? Were they stringing _her_ up now, too? But her cry was only out of concern for Finn. Connor was holding him back, a knife pressed dangerously close to his throat. "Get out of my way," Finn snarled, and tried to knock him away.

Then the unthinkable happened.

Charlotte broke free from Octavia, who had listened to Finn and was trying to carry her away. The little girl stomped into the middle of the mob and screeched, reaching a pitch Bellamy didn't think she was capable of. "Stop, okay?! Murphy didn't kill Wells!"

Everyone froze.

" _I did!_ "

Bellamy's eyes widened and he felt his mouth hang open in shock. He stood stock-still, staring.

"Oh, my God." Clarke and Finn reacted immediately. She unfastened Bellamy's ax from his belt and hacked at the rope. It snapped with one hit and Murphy collapsed onto the ground, fighting for breath. Finn loosened the noose around his neck and he coughed, gasping for air. Few others in the crowd also rushed forward, no longer aching for Murphy's head on a stick.

But Bellamy couldn't move. Charlotte, the sweet little girl who had nightmares. Charlotte, the sweet little girl who bravely ventured out into the forest to join the hunting party. Charlotte, the sweet little girl who wasn't afraid of the grounders, who somehow had the strength to realize what Atom needed. He gulped, paralyzed once again. Charlotte was not some innocent little girl; she was the little girl who _murdered Wells in cold blood._

* * *

" _Bring out the girl, Bellamy!_ "

Bellamy closed his eyes briefly. His chest was tight and he fought the queasiness in his stomach tiredly. He, Charlotte, Clarke and Finn had spent the last few minutes in silence. No one knew what to say at first. None of the classes on the Ark prepared them for this.

Finally, he couldn't take it anymore. " _Why_ , Charlotte?"

"Because I was just trying to slay my demons, like _you_ told me," she answered, and Bellamy's eyes shot open.

_Goddammit._

Clarke looked at him sharply. "What the hell is she talking about?" she demanded, and Bellamy could feel her judgment, her resentment, just from her gaze. Heat flushed up his neck to his face and he shook his head, trying to shake off her disdain. He already had more than enough self-disgust; he didn't need to take anymore from her.

"She misunderstood me," he dismissed her quickly, turning back to the little girl cowering behind him. "Charlotte, that is _not_ what I meant."

"Bring the girl out now!" Murphy shouted outside the tent, interrupting Bellamy's train of thought.

Charlotte gazed up at him, big eyes watering. " _Please_ don't let them hurt me."

He swore inwardly, suddenly thinking of his sister again, and the last time he had seen her. _Bell, how do I get home?_ He hadn't known what to do then; any sort of action they could've taken would've alerted the authorities. But here on the ground, _he_ was the authority. So why couldn't he think of a solution?

"If you guys have any bright ideas," Bellamy urged the other two, "speak up." They said nothing, looking at each other, forlorn. _Of. Fucking. Course._ "Oh, _now_ you stay quiet."

"Those are _your_ boys out there," Finn retorted, and it took all of Bellamy's inner strength not to start screaming.

"This is _not_ my fault!" he exclaimed. As soon as the words left his mouth, he wanted to throw up. _Yes it is. This_ is _my fault_. He pointed at Clarke accusingly, but dropped his hand when he saw it shaking. _It's all my fault_. "If _she_ had listened to me, those idiots would still be building the wall."

Murphy's voice came in muffled through the fabric of the tent. "You want to build a society, princess? Let's build a society! _Bring her out._ "

"No!" Charlotte clung to Bellamy's arm, her voice rising and body shaking with hysteria. " _Please_ , Bellamy!"

No matter the facts, he just couldn't see her as anything more than a sweet, little girl. A tiny thing like her was as capable of murder as his sister. He tried to detach himself from Charlotte. He tried and he tried, but he still felt obligated to protect her. God knows she didn't deserve it. "Charlotte, hey, it's gonna be okay." He squatted down to her eye level and placed his hands on her shoulders. He squeezed comfortingly and shot her a quick grin. It felt fake on his face.

He quickly looked up at Clarke. Their eyes connected, and Bellamy's heart sank at the apathy in her gaze. "Just stay with them," he instructed Charlotte, praying that Clarke's morals would override her hate for her best friend's murderer.

Bellamy stood then and roughly shoved aside the opening of the tent. His eyebrows furrowed together once his gaze set on Murphy. The kid's bloodied face just made him look even crazier. "Well, well, well," Murphy said, strolling forward. "Look who decided to join us."

"Dial it down and back off," Bellamy growled. He lifted his chest, trying to take up more space. He needed to reestablish his control. _These guys are under_ my _control_ , he reminded himself. He took a deep breath and used the opportunity to straighten his back. _Don't let them forget that_.

But Murphy didn't care anymore. "Or what? What are you gonna do about me?" he scoffed, and stepped forward into Bellamy's personal space, testing him. " _Hang me?_ "

Bellamy resisted the urge to step back. _You're in control, you're in control_ , he chanted mentally. "I was just giving the people what they wanted."

"Yeah," Murphy nodded his head. "Yeah, that's a good idea. Why don't we do that right now?" He smiled then, a little crookedly. It was a wicked smile, and he instantly reminded Bellamy of a villain from an ancient comic book story, Joker. Hatman- no, Batguy- no, was it Batman? The hero always had trouble with this one villain because the creep never had an _actual_ motive; he hurt people just to hurt people, he hurt people because he _enjoyed_ it. Bellamy shuddered unintentionally, visualizing Murphy as a real-life Joker.

"So, who here wants to see the real murderer hung up?" he continued, turning to face the delinquents behind him with a hand stretched high above his head. "All in favor?" He looked around eagerly, but Bellamy sighed with relief when only six or so people raised their hands. Murphy dropped his arm, his body stiff. "I see." He was _pissed_. "So, it's okay to string me up for _nothing_ ," his voice was rising, "but when this little bitch _confesses_ , you all let her _walk?_ Cowards! All of you are _cowards!_ "

_Fucker's gonna attack_ , Bellamy thought, watching Murphy tense. He quickly recalled Joker Jr.'s attention to himself. _Better me than anyone else_ , he reasoned. "Hey, Murphy!" Bellamy didn't want Murphy to _actually_ kill anyone today. The kid spun around, nostrils flaring. Bellamy lifted his hands, feeling like he was trying to calm a rabid animal. Although, to be frank, that's _exactly_ what Murphy was. Bellamy lowered his voice and tried for a soothing tone. "Murphy. It's over."

He nodded at Bellamy again, the angry creases in his face smoothing out. "Whatever you say, boss," he conceded. But he was still emanating a hyper energy, eyes wild, lips curving in the same twisted grin.

_I have to get Charlotte out of here_ , Bellamy realized, so, faking satisfaction, he inclined his head in Murphy's direction. He turned, walking briskly back to the tent. Where was the safest place for Charlotte right now? The caves, maybe? No, the others-

Pain unlike anything Bellamy experienced before exploded in the back of his head. Spots dotted his vision, the edges blurring.

_Murphy._

Black. Darkness.

Nothing.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you guys liked it! The rest of this episode is finished in chapter three part two. Let me know what you think! Also, thank you so much to my beta Caitlin for helping me with each chapter so far and always responding quickly - couldn't do this without you!


	4. Murphy's Law (Part 2)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Charlotte does the unexpected and Clarke cleans Bellamy's head wound.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own The 100 or its wonderful characters.

**Season 1 Episode 4: Murphy's Law**

**Part Two**

* * *

_Bellamy_

* * *

Bellamy squatted low and tried to stay out of sight, muttering a string of curses beneath his breath. Finn wasn't the only tracker; there's a reason the hundred haven't started dying off from starvation yet. That reason? Bellamy. But even a ten-year-old could pick up their trail, dark as it was. He had only the moon and stars to accompany him, but still, wandering through the forest, _alone_ , was jarring, if nothing else. Clarke, Finn and Charlotte were running too clumsily through the forest. They were practically leading Murphy right to them.

_Where are you guys going?_ he wondered, weaving between the trees. When he'd woke a half hour earlier, Bellamy was sprawled out on the ground in front of his tent. Murphy, his followers, Clarke and Charlotte, they were all gone. His only clue as to what had happened was the pain in the back of his head, now a dull throbbing. He could hardly hear the shuffling of… _someone_ until he or she was almost on top of him. Bellamy ducked behind a tree, waiting. His first instinct suspected it might be a grounder, but whoever it was, was making _a lot_ of noise. It had to be one of the hundred. And the only people he expected to be panting heavily from running this late at night were the three he was following. Bellamy frowned; were they _trying_ to get caught?

He peeked around the tree and caught a flash of blonde hair in the moonlight. At first he thought it was Clarke, but then he noticed the braid, and Bellamy let out a breath he didn't know he was holding. _Charlotte_. Stepping forward quietly, he lightly placed his hand on Charlotte's arm. She started, recoiling at his touch, and opened her mouth to scream. Bellamy jumped toward her, clapping his fingers tightly over her mouth to muffle the shriek. He turned her head so that she'd see his face and quickly hushed her.

"Charlotte! You can't hide forever!" a voice shouted, a distant echo. "Don't worry, we won't hurt you!"

_Yeah, right._

Bellamy looked up, straining to hear. It was undoubtedly Murphy's voice, but the words were faint. They were still far away, meaning he still had some time to get Charlotte to safety. He held onto her elbow and started ushering her along, but she fought against him, yanking her arm away. "Let me go!" she shouted carelessly, and Bellamy winced. If Murphy hadn't known which way to go, he would now.

"I'm trying… hey, hey!" Charlotte was putting up a good fight, and Bellamy struggled to keep a firm hold without accidentally hurting her. What was she doing? "I'm trying to help you!" he reassured her quickly. Did she _actually_ think he'd turn her over?

"I'm not your sister! Just stop helping me!" she snapped viciously. The metallic tone in her voice cut Bellamy like a knife, and he loosened his grasp. It was unintentional, really, how important she'd become to him. He felt as though it was his job to watch out for her _. My sister, my responsibility,_ he'd always said. No, Charlotte wasn't his sister, but he'd taken a liking to the little girl; in many ways, she reminded him of Octavia. But it never once crossed Bellamy's mind that Charlotte would resent that. Bellamy stared at her, hurt, and she saw the opportunity to tear herself free."I'm over here!" She started running in the other direction. Away from him.

Towards Murphy.

_Oh_.

Bellamy quickly regained his composure and darted after her, grabbing her by the jacket. "Hey! Are you trying to get us _both_ killed?" he hissed in her face. He was glad that she didn't think he'd betray her, at least, and he could accept that she didn't want his protection. But he couldn't wrap his head around anything else. She kept drawing attention to herself, calling out to Murphy. Bellamy didn't understand. Did she _want_ to die?

Charlotte sighed, defeated. "J-just go, okay?" she pleaded, "I'm the one they want."

_She wants to give herself up_ , he realized feebly, and held her more forcefully. Bellamy looked deep in her eyes, wanting her to understand that he would protect her. "Okay, Charlotte, listen to me. I. Won't. Leave you."

But she just shook her head. " _Please_ , Bellamy." He said nothing, staring, striving to understand. Why would she just give herself up after everything he, Clarke and Finn had done trying to save her?

Charlotte tried to get away from him once again, but Bellamy was bigger and stronger. _Screw this_ , he thought, and threw her over his shoulder. She squirmed around and wouldn't stop punching his back and pulling his hair, but carrying her was significantly easier than the alternative. Charlotte gave up after a few fruitless strikes and she finally stopped hitting him. Bellamy heaved a sigh of relief. Travel would be doable now; he picked up the pace. But then suddenly her little voice erupted behind his ear, "Murphy! I'm over here!"

Murphy answered her call, closer now. "Come on out, Charlotte! _Come on out!_ "

Bellamy didn't dare look behind him. Don't look back, that was always what people on the run shouted in earth's old movies. And whenever someone _did_ turn around, that someone died. So he pressed on, trying to ignore Murphy's constant howling.

Charlotte finally ceased slapping him, but she hadn't stopped shouting. "Put me down!"

"Charlotte!"

It was a lethal game of Marco Polo. Every time she opened her mouth, Murphy's voice sounded in response. And each time, that ugly, remorseless voice was louder, clearer. Bellamy dodged around trees, over bushes, zig-zagging through the forest. Yet, no matter where he went, Murphy followed close behind.

The night was getting darker as time stretched on. He glanced up, looking for the position of the moon through the foliage above. What time was it? He wasn't sure how long he ran, or when he even started. How long had Charlotte been shouting? How long had Murphy been chasing them? Bellamy was in shape, but he could only go for so long. His breathing was ragged and his heart beat wildly. He was slowing down.

To the left, through the trees, he saw what looked like a clearing. Logic and strategy insisted he stay in the trees, that it wasn't a good idea to run out in the open, but Bellamy knew Murphy was a bad shot. The kid had strength when he threw a punch, but not a knife. _It'll save time_ , he figured. He wouldn't need to sidestep trees in every direction. Thinking this was Charlotte's saving grace, Bellamy took a sharp left and emerged from the tree line, feeling nearly victorious.

But Bellamy and his hostage-in-distress came to a skidding halt. It was a clearing, all right; clear of _anything_. They were stuck at the edge of a cliff, trapped between a hundred-foot drop and a noose, or knife, or whatever Murphy had in mind. Either way, they were cornered.

He set Charlotte down. "Damn it!" Bellamy looked at the cliff wretchedly, then back behind him. Five little orbs of orange light bobbed in the forest, getting closer with each second. _Maybe there's a river at the bottom_. They could survive if the fall ended in a splash, rather than a splat.

" _Bellamy!_ "

_Shit_.

Murphy found them. "You cannot fight all of us. Give her up." Four delinquents followed Murphy out of the trees. One quick scan and Bellamy recognized each of them as members of the little security squad he'd set up in the first few days they'd landed. _Traitors_ _!_

Protectively, he put an arm out in front of Charlotte. "Maybe not," Bellamy granted, regarding each of them. He talked slowly, stalling for time. "But I guarantee I'll take a few of you with me." His eyes darted back and forth, looking for an opening. There was a little extra space between two of them, but they were right behind Murphy. By the time he'd be able to shove Murphy aside, the other four would be on top of him. They'd have Charlotte before he could get her to safety. Bellamy gulped; it didn't look good for neither him nor Charlotte.

" _Bellamy!_ "

Despite himself, he relaxed slightly. _Saved by the princess_ , he thought, and wanted to laugh at the irony. By the tone of her voice, Bellamy expected Clarke was thinking he was about to kill Charlotte himself.

Then she saw Murphy and his four henchmen. "Stop!" she said, standing between him and Bellamy. Finn came into view from out of the tree line as she held her arm out in Murphy's direction. Her whole body was tense, anticipating an attack. Her voice, on the other hand, took on the same soothing tone Bellamy had used before Murphy knocked him out. "This has gone too far." She swiveled back and forth between the boys, trying to smile. "Just calm down. We'll talk about this."

Murphy stared at her, then at Charlotte. The seconds ticked by and Bellamy's heart pounded in his ears. His fingers tingled, itching to lash out, as they waited for Murphy's response. _Don't be stupid._

With one swift movement, Murphy dropped his torch, pulled out a knife, and twisted Clarke around. He pushed the sharp side of the blade against the nape of her neck. Holding her hostage, he buried his face into her hair, hissing, "I'm _sick_ of listening to you talk."

Finn and Bellamy both moved forward instinctively, but neither of them got very far. One of Murphy's buddies held Finn back, and Bellamy remembered Charlotte behind him.

"Let her go," Finn demanded, and pushed the delinquent off him.

Murphy pressed down harder on Clarke's neck. "I _will_ slit her throat," he warned, and a sliver of deep, red blood slithered down her neck. Bellamy's heartbeat sped up, blood pounded in his ears, red lined his vision. Seeing her blood, waves of anxiety swept over him. His fingers ached to wrap around Murphy's throat and _squeeze; squeeze_ the air out of Murphy's lungs, _squeeze_ the life out of his eyes. He wouldn't stop until Clarke was safe. Until Murphy was dead.

Charlotte cried out, "No, please!" She shook her head at Murphy, inching forward. " _Please_ don't hurt her."

"Don't hurt her?" Murphy repeated. "Okay, I'll make you a deal. You come with me right now, I will let her go."

"Don't do it, Charlotte," Clarke said. But she started walking forward anyways. Bellamy held her back as Clarke shouted again, "Don't do it, Charlotte!"

"No! No, I have to!" She was crying now, but Bellamy couldn't see the tears on her face. He noticed then in shock that her whole face was wet. Her hair and clothes, too. And where he held her, his hands were damp. No, they were soaked. _He_ was soaked. It was raining. When had it started raining?

Charlotte abruptly stopped struggling against him, so he let go. He glanced at Clarke; her lips were pressed into a firm line and her face was pale. They stared at one another, her blue eyes searing into his dark brown ones. She was terrified, but otherwise held herself together well.

"Murphy, this is _not_ happening," he said, only briefly looking away from Clarke to survey the scene before him. Four of Murphy's men, against him and Finn. A sudden attack would throw Murphy off, and Clarke could fend for herself. The whole situation was unlikely, but it _was_ possible. They couldn't waste anymore time. He turned his head in Finn's direction-

"I can't let any of you get hurt anymore." Bellamy changed the direction of his gaze, looking at Charlotte instead, taken aback by the sheer exhaustion in her voice. It was such an intense contrast from the high-pitched shrieking he had grown accustomed to in the last few hours. Charlotte spoke low and tiredly, but she commanded everyone's attention again, just as she had when announcing that she killed Wells. Bellamy let her continue talking as a distraction, impatiently searching for the best time to strike. He wasn't paying attention to her words. "Not because of me. Not after what I did."

He was still looking at Clarke when she screamed Charlotte's name, wrenching out of Murphy's grasp. But, it seemed more like Murphy had let go. _Why?_

Clarke lurched forward, arms outstretched. Bellamy thought at first that her arms were open wide for a hug, but she pushed past him. He turned and saw Charlotte's little body leaping from the cliff's edge, and time seemed to slow. Bellamy reached out towards her, but he was too far. His mouth opened; did he shout something? Then he was on his hands and knees next to Clarke, peering down into the blackness below. They couldn't see Charlotte anymore.

"No, no, no, _no!_ " Clarke cried. He could feel her shaking next to him. Bellamy waited, and waited. The little girl wasn't even screaming. Where was the splash? Or, God forbid, the splat? But there was nothing. Just the rain, and the weeping from the girl beside him. Silence from below. Silence from behind him.

Clarke laid her forehead down against the ground, shuddering and sobbing. The fury Bellamy had bottled up in order to keep a clear head suddenly erupted. Charlotte had literally just leapt to her _death_ because Murphy threatened to kill if she didn't comply. He couldn't save her, or Clarke, and Charlotte knew it. The odds were against him and the only exit Charlotte saw led to her death.

Bellamy turned, trying to slow his breathing, to keep in control. But as soon as his gaze landed on Murphy, his rage consumed him again like fire. It lit up his body and suddenly he wasn't cold anymore, he was hot, he was burning. He was angry.

Murphy stared at him wide-eyed. "Bellamy…"

It set Bellamy off into a fit of violent, ferocious outrage. He let out a gurgled war cry and tackled Murphy to the ground, letting his full weight crash down hard on the kid's chest. "Bellamy-" Murphy said again, but was cut off as fist connected to chin in an uppercut.

"Bellamy, _stop!_ You'll kill him!"

He continued hitting and punching and wailing on Murphy. He didn't think, he just acted. There was no room for logic or ethics in Bellamy's mind, not next to all the violence that polluted his judgment. Punch, after punch, after punch, but he wasn't tiring out. Murphy tried to fight back but he was no match, and eventually he stopped moving altogether. Bellamy could best him easily when calm, just sparring; the kid was going to die if he continued to face Bellamy's wrath.

Finn pulled him off Murphy's body and Bellamy shrugged him away angrily. "Get off me!" As soon as Spacewalker let go, he moved to descend on Murphy again, ready to launch another volley of attacks, when Clarke stepped in his way. Bellamy's fight wasn't with her, so he restrained himself just enough to shout at her, "He _deserves_ to die!"

"No!" she yelled back. Her voice was thick and her eyes watered. "We don't decide who lives and dies. Not down here."

Bellamy paused, looking from her to Murphy sprawled out pathetically on the ground. "So help me God, if you say the _people_ have a right to decide, I-" A series of images flooded his mind's eye then: another angry mob, a hanging, a hunt through the forest, and more deaths. He couldn't do this again. Every time one of the hundred died, Bellamy felt a piece of his humanity die, too.

"No!" she interrupted quickly, shutting down the images of death that plagued him. "I was wrong before, okay? _You were right_. Sometimes it's dangerous to tell people the truth. But if we're gonna survive down here, we can't just live by 'whatever the hell we want.' We need rules."

He ran his hand across his face in frustration, scowling when she threw his words back in his face. "And _who_ makes those rules, huh? _You?_ "

Clarke didn't miss a beat. She stepped towards him, and when she spoke again, she wasn't hysterical. Bellamy wished he was as calm; Charlotte's little body disappearing into the darkness still felt heavy on his shoulders, on his heart. "For now, _we_ make the rules. Okay?"

His eyes darted again from her to Murphy. "So, what, then? We just take him back and pretend like it never happened?"

"No!" Clarke looked around feverishly from him, to the ground, to the sky. She was searching for a solution, he could tell, and he worried that she'd come up empty. But when she faced him again, she was calm as ever. Determination enhanced the wrinkles around her eyes. "We banish him."

_That's not enough_ , he wanted to say, but he didn't have any other options. "Get up." Bellamy pulled Murphy up by the front of his jacket and brought him to the edge of the cliff, ignoring Clarke as she called his name anxiously. He pushed Murphy as near to the edge as he could, bringing his face so close that he could feel Murphy's shaky attempts for breath through his broken nose. "If I _ever_ catch you near camp, we'll be back here," he snarled. "Understand?"

Murphy nodded almost imperceptibly, and Bellamy roughly threw him back onto the ground. "As for the four of you, you can come back and follow me, or go off with him to die. Your choice." With that last demand hanging in the air, Bellamy marched off back to camp.

* * *

Bellamy sat on his bed, turning his axe over in his hands, studying its grooves and curves, running his thumb idly over the blunt side. At the outskirts of his mind, he heard Charlotte's little voice chittering away happily, saw her busily working on the wall.

"Thank you."

Suddenly Clarke appeared at the entrance of his tent, holding the flap open timidly. He looked up at the sound of her voice, and when she didn't enter right away, he beckoned her in impatiently with a wave of his hand. "For what?" he asked wearily, examining his axe again.

"For not killing Murphy." Bellamy grunted once before chucking the weapon at the ground. It landed in the dirt, hilt up, with a loud thud. Clarke eyed the axe cautiously as she sat beside him on the bed. Heat radiated from her skin, warming his own, and he recognized that this was the closest they'd ever been willingly. "I know you're not a murderer, Bellamy," she continued softly. She watched him earnestly as he leaned back on his hands, but he still refused to look at her. Bellamy didn't trust what might be written on his face if he did. "That's not who you are."

"You don't know who I am," he answered gruffly, and quickly stood. He wasn't sure why the Ark's precious princess was in his tent, but he didn't want her there any longer. Bellamy shrugged off his shirt, hoping his naked upper body would send her scurrying out of his tent.

Instead, he heard her gasp a little, and the bed creaked as she got up. It was fleeting, but Bellamy's first thought was that she was gasping at his _body_ , and his _naked_ body, at that. A little gust of wind tickled his bare back, making him shiver, and then he felt her fingers lightly at the base of his head. They hovered over his skin and in his hair, and Bellamy's second thought was whether or not she was _petting_ him. He opened his mouth to ask as much when she said, "You're bleeding."

Bellamy kept his back to her, listening to the sound of her feet as they shuffled to the other side of the tent. When she returned, Clarke placed one hand on his elbow to guide him back to the bed. She held a cold, wet rag in the other. Bellamy stiffened uncomfortably before sitting, but when she raised an eyebrow at him, he settled down at the edge obligingly. "Turn around," she ordered, and he obeyed.

The rag was cold against his skin, and he shivered, the hair raising on his arms. But otherwise, he felt strangely warm. Bellamy could _feel_ her sitting close behind him; her knee brushed against the side of his leg, and the back of his neck tingled each time she exhaled. Clarke dabbed delicately at the wound, and he bit his tongue when she pressed a little too hard. "I'm sorry," she said briskly, and he shrugged his shoulders.

A moment later Clarke spoke again. "Did you trip over your own feet?" Her tone was light and joking, but he wasn't in the mood. "I thought you had more coordination than that, Bellamy."

"No, I didn't trip." His reply was curt, the last word slithering out his lips like an insult, and he could feel her flinch behind him. He bit his bottom lip, immediately regretting his brusqueness. "Sorry," Bellamy muttered, turning his chin slightly over his shoulder. He couldn't see Clarke's whole face, only the corner of her lips as they perked up in a slight smile. His jaw clenched and he faced forward again. "It was Murphy."

"Did we make the right choice?" she asked thickly, and he wondered if she wanted an honest answer. Her hand still blotted gently at the back of his head, but she did it almost absentmindedly. Bellamy was curious if Charlotte haunted Clarke's thoughts as often as she haunted his.

He decided on honesty. "I don't know," he answered. She sniffled behind him then, and Bellamy hastily turned around. He didn't intend to comfort her; actually, he had wanted to scold her. _I don't comfort people_ , he was about to say, _I'm not that guy_ , but the words stopped at the edge of his tongue as soon as he saw Clarke's face.

Tears streamed down her face silently and her lips were pursed together, but she didn't make a sound. Her shoulders were shaking and her nostrils flared with each trembling breath. Bellamy couldn't see her blue eyes because the lids were tightly shut. Clarke restrained her sobbing rather well, but she was completely and utterly vulnerable nonetheless, there in his tent, on his bed. As if that wasn't surprising already, he found himself oddly comfortable. He was glad she was with him, that she trusted him enough to allow this moment to happen.

Bellamy hesitated at first, but then he placed his hand tenderly on her knee. At his touch, a whimper escaped her lips and she bent low, hugging her arms around herself. "Charlotte," she breathed, voice cracking, "God, Charlotte, _I'm so sorry_." The tears flowed freely as she weeped. His jaw clenched, but he didn't dare move, his hand still on her knee. Bellamy let her cry, trying to ignore the tightness in his own chest as he watched her.

He didn't know how much time passed in that tent, the two of them sitting close as they mourned the little girl that threw herself off the cliff's edge. Eventually, Clarke calmed and Bellamy reclaimed his hand, feeling a little uncomfortable. He realized then that he hadn't thought of Charlotte once in the past how many minutes, even though that was the reason they were together now.

"Turn back around," she demanded, wiping her eyes and laughing a little. Clarke smiled at him sheepishly before continuing to clean the wound. When she finished, the back of his head was damp and his chest was full of hot air. "I don't think you have a concussion," she said. Clarke tapped his shoulder and tucked her fingers under his chin, turning him to face her again. She peered into his eyes, their faces so close that Bellamy could see his reflection in her pupils. Her fingertips pressed lightly at his temples, then she leaned away, satisfied. "Do you have a headache?"

The most Bellamy could do in that moment was nod. He did, but it wasn't because of the wound.

Her eyebrows furrowed together and her bottom lip jutted out, suddenly distressed. She reached up to him again, gently probing his head. "How bad is your headache? Are you sensitive to light?"

He quickly shook his head no and his fingers wrapped carefully around her wrist, pulling it down until their hands rested together in his lap. "I'm fine," he assured her quietly, voice raspy.

They sat like that for a moment, which turned into a few seconds, which then stretched out into a few more. Once again, Bellamy stayed still as stone, too nervous to move, and she didn't budge at first, either. Then the corner of her lips quirked up in another little smile, and his chest felt like it would burst. "If you become sensitive to light, or sound, or your headache worsens, come find me." Her hand found his and their fingers laced together briefly as she squeezed his hand comfortingly, then she stood and walked out his tent.

He stared after her, his skin still tingling where she touched him.

_What the hell was_ that _?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you guys liked part two; let me know what you think! Also, thank you again to my beta Caitlin for helping me finish this chapter.

**Author's Note:**

> What I love most about this ship is that they started out hating each other, but then grew together as leaders. In this story, I'll be touching on each Bellarke moment that I think is important. Expect a new chapter every Thursday - it'll be like experiencing the show all over again! (At least for me. This is how I'm keeping my sanity as we wait for season 4.) Let me know what you guys think!  
> Thank you to my two wonderful betas on FanFiction, Caitlin and Sapph, for all their hard work and help in keeping Bellamy and Clarke in character. This chapter wouldn't be as it is now if not for them!
> 
> This story is also posted on FanFiction at Mik kom Skaikru (still me!) and Tumblr at write-again (also still me!)
> 
> Disclaimer: I do not own The 100 or its wonderful characters.


End file.
